


A Storm Over Himlad

by Beleriandings



Series: Aredhel/Celegorm AU [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Sexual Content, mentions of domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Aredhel and Maeglin left Himlad for Gondolin pursued by Eöl, Celegorm was not there. But if Curufin's meeting with Eöl had gone differently, what could have happened?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Curufin

Curufinwë watched the rain stream down the window, listening to the rumble of thunder in the distance and wondering what was going on out there, beyond the boundaries of Himlad. Suddenly his son’s voice at the door brought him out of his reverie.

“ _Atar!_ ”

Curufinwë turned, alarmed by the sharp note in his Tyelperinquar’s voice.

“Tyelpe! What is it? Has Tyelkormo returned?”

“No, it’s not him, it’s…  _Eöl._  Irissë’s Moriquendi husband. He - ” his voice was interrupted by a loud, insistant banging from the direction of the entrance hall, and the sound of muffled voices. “He is demanding to see Tyelko immediately.”

Curufinwë scowled. “Curse him. Surely someone has told him that Tyelko is away? Never mind, I will handle it.” He pulled on a richly embroidered robe over his clothes, and set his prince’s circlet on his head. As an afterthought, he buckled his sword belt on under the robe, out of plain sight. He swept out of the door of his study and down the broad staircase that led to Himlad’s grand entrance hall, Tyelperinquar following. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the tall wooden doors burst open, and a tall, cloaked figure strode into the hall, shaking water from his shoulders and throwing back his hood to reveal a bone-white face and a curtain of black hair. “Where is the Lord Celegorm?” His eyes narrowed and there was suspicion in his voice. “I presume you are not he?”

“You would be right. I am his brother, Lord Curufin, and we rule this land together.  Any business you may have with him can be taken up with me also.” He saw the Moriquendi’s lip curl sceptically and hurriedly carried on. “But come, you are our guest, and you have not yet introduced yourself.” He raised an eyebrow. “Or did you already introduce yourself, to the guards at the door?”

His reply was accompanied by a sneer. “I am Eöl, Lord of Nan Elmoth, as you well know, my  _Lord_. I seek my wife and son, and I have reason to believe your dear brother is hiding them.”

“You do? Well, I assure you that the Lord Celegorm knows nothing of their whereabouts, nor that Lady Aredhel even has a son. Furthermore, he has been away from Himlad, riding with the patrols this last week.” This much at least was true, he thought ruefully. Irissë and Maeglin’s sudden appearance only the previous day – and their swift flight – had taken him by surprise, and he had given silent thanks that Tyelkormo had not been there to witness it. He was not sure he trusted his brother not to do something unwise, when Irissë was involved.

Eöl’s face darkened. “Don’t you  _dare_  lie to me. You call yourself  _Lord_ , but you can give yourself all the pretty titles you like and it won’t change a thing. You’re nothing but a filthy usurper in this land, and you are sheltering my wife and son, I know you are. You and that  _brother_ of yours. Do you take me for a foolish child? I know they had a sordid, incestuous affair in their youth.”

Curufinwë snorted. “And how, pray, do you know that? Did she tell you? Or - ” he smiled sweetly “ - did she perhaps say his name at a certain time when you felt he should be saying yours instead?” Eöl’s face grew even more stormy, two bright purple blotches appearing on his pale cheeks. Quick as a snake, he had crossed the distance between them and was gripping the front of Curufinwë’s robes in his fist, their faces inches apart. “You think this is  _funny_ , you kinslaying scum? I _know_  she came here, and my son too. Now give them back to me, or tell me where they went - ” his hand was in Curufinwë’s hair now, roughly jerking his head backwards as Eöl pulled out a short, wickedly sharp black knife, pressing the edge against Curufinwë’s throat. “-or you die, right here. Simple as that. And I assume you know better than to squeal for help.”

Curufinwë swallowed, struggling to keep his face neutral as the cold metal bit against his flesh, just below his chin. He felt a trickle of hot blood slide down his neck to his collarbone. Eöl, he noticed now, was at least a head taller than him. He stared into those black, bottomless eyes, determined not to be intimidated by him as his mind raced through his options. He saw a movement in his peripheral vision.    
“Stay back, Tyelpe” he warned, fixing an icy smile on his face. He tilted his jaw. “Guards, you too.  _Lord_ Eöl’s business is with me, and me alone.” If he could only get a chance to draw his sword… he let his eyes flick over Eöl, taking in every detail of him. His breath smelled a little of aniseed, he noted, feeling strangely detached. His armour was that same black metal as the knife, and was decorated with the same sinuous pattern. The craftsmanship of both knife and armour was exquisite, he could not help but notice. He was certain he had seen it somewhere before, and recently. Of course, he realised, he had seen it on Maeglin’s sword. He had been intrigued by the sword at the time, but had not had the time to ask him about it. He glanced at Eöl’s sword, and then to his armour, and to the hilt of the knife, and then back to the sword again. Sure enough, it did not match. It was too short for him, for one thing, and it was not made of the strange black metal. The boy must have taken his father’s sword, he realised, masterfully hiding his glee. That meant that Eöl would be unfamiliar with his weapon, and would likely be clumsy in a one-to-one fight. Now, if he could only distract Eöl long enough to draw his own sword…

“Why” he asked “would you think that they would stay here? And yes, that is a confession. They  _were_  here, not a day ago. You’re too late, I’m sorry to have to tell you. They are probably halfway to Gondolin by now. My poor brother shall doubtless be heartbroken when he returns.”

“You’re lying.” Was it Curufinwë’s imagination, or was there a flicker of doubt in Eöl’s voice? But it was gone as quickly as it had come. He bit back a snarl of frustration. Eöl was clearly not going to be distracted so easily. Suddenly he heard a distant horn call from beyond the fortress walls, and then a shout behind him, and recognised his son’s voice from where he stood by the window. “The Lord Celegorm rides to Himlad! Send word to the guards to open the gates!” That was all that was needed. Eöl’s black eyes seemed grow even darker with fury, his face twisting, and for a moment his gaze left Curufinwë’s face, the pressure of the knife on his throat slackening, just a little… it was all that he needed. He gave Eöl a violent shove in the chest, sending him barrelling backwards, barely even noticing as the knife nicked his chin. In one fluid movement, he drew his sword with his right hand and his knife with his left, at the same time springing across the distance between them, his long robe flaring out behind him. He caught Eöl struggling to regain his balance and draw his blade at the same time, and struck at him viciously with his sword. But Eöl parried the blow with his dagger, steel ringing against the unknown black metal with a strangely deadened sound. Eöl finally drew his sword and lashed out again with a snarl, the blade scything out an arc over Curufinwë’s head as he ducked just in time. From his position low to the ground he attacked upwards, seizing Eöl by the hood of his cloak and pinning him against the stone wall, his own knife now pressed to Eöl’s throat. Eöl smiled, a feral grin that was all teeth and did not reach his eyes. “Ha! Well, what are you going to do now? Can you find it in your heart to kill me, I wonder?”

Curufinwë hesitated momentarily.

“Go on. You can’t do it, can you? You people. You want redemption? To forget the past and set up a nice little home here in  _my_  lands, to pretend that it was yours all along? I bet all you want is to forget the screams of your kin, as you slit their throats. You couldn’t do it again. You’re nothing, worthless, you and all your cursed cousins and brothers.”

Curufinwë didn’t even think about it a moment longer. His hands seeming to know what his rational mind would decide. He pressed the knife into the skin, and it seemed he was watching himself from far away, as if the hot, sticky blood were spurting and pouring over someone else’s fingers. A voice that sounded a little like his father’s seemed to ring in his ears as Eöl’s body slumped against the wall, his last breathe gurgling out in a bloody, coughing bark of a laugh.  _After all, Eöl would have happily killed you. He nearly did. Protect those whom you love, and who love you. Your family. Your own._ He grimaced, stepping back from the body and wiping his hands and knife on his tunic.

“You thought I wouldn’t do it? You were wrong.” He whispered the words, too quietly for anyone alive to hear. Then he turned.

“Tyelperinquar? Are you alright? Thank you. That was quick thinking. Now if only Tyelkormo  _would_ return.”

Tyelperinquar’s face was grim. “I’m glad I could buy you some time, but I didn’t make it up. Just look out the - ”

Suddenly, the doors burst open again, and there was his brother, framed in the doorway for a moment by a flash of lightning from the storm outside, Huan loping at his heels. Tyelkormo’s eyes were wild as he hurried to where Curufinwë stood, his pale hair darkened and sticking to his face with rainwater.  “Curvo! The patrols said Irissë was here, just yesterday! I came as soon as I – what  _happened_ here? Why are you covered in blood? And who” – he gestured at Eöl’s body against the wall – “is  _that_? Are we under attack?”

Curufinwë looked up at him, wondering what to tell him. He must go carefully, he knew.

“We are not under attack, not any longer. There was just  _him_. We fought, and, well… as you see.”

Tyelkormo stared at him suspiciously, and Curufinwë could tell that his brother knew that he was not getting the full story.

“But Irissë? Is it true what they say? Is she here?”

Curufinwë sighed. “She  _was_  here…”

Tyelkormo’s face darkened. “ _Was?_ ”

“I let her go.”

“You… let her…?” Tyelkormo took a deep breath. “ _Why_ , Curvo? I mean, why was she here? Did she say… anything?”

“She was here yesterday. They were fleeing her husband.” His eyes wandered to where Eöl’s body lay. Tyelkormo’s face was white with shock, and Curufinwë watched the anger rise in his eyes as he made the connection. “ _Him?_ ”

“Indeed.”

Before Curufinwë realised what happened his brother was standing over the body on the floor, his foot crushing down on the face, pressing it into the growing pool of blood on the stone floor under his boot. His face was a mask of fury as he spat viciously.

“Tyelko - ”

“ _If I had been here -_ ”

“Then he would have ended up dead either way.”

The sudden rage seemed to drain out of Tyelkormo’s face as quickly as it had come, and he sank to his knees on the stone floor, amid the rapidly growing pool of blood. His head was slumped forward, his hands covering his face. Finally he stood up slowly, and then spoke, his voice twisted with something that might have been desperation. “Where is she, Curvo? Did she say where she was going?”

“They make for Turukáno’s hidden city. Brother, you will not be welcome there.”

“But she will not have arrived yet, surely? I can still catch up with her.”

“We don’t even know precisely the route they took.”

“I’m going to find her” he said slowly. His was jaw set with determination, his eyes burning. “I’m going to get her back.”

“ _Now_? Tyelko, however fast you ride, it’s a stormy night. And there will be no tracks to follow, even if it were light. You have little chance of finding her, particularly if she doesn’t want to be found. You will fail.”

But he appeared not to have heard. He pulled his hood over his head, gestured to Huan to follow him, and the two of them swept from the hall.

 


	2. Maeglin

Maeglin did not like this storm. They were following the Aros, and the ground by the riverside was already muddy and treacherous, and if one of their horses were to slip… he pushed the thought away. He concentrated on his mother, letting the grim determination in her face calm his fears. He drew his hood a little further over his face, hunching forward in the saddle and narrowing his eyes against the wind and rain. He glanced around nervously. They were too exposed here, he thought. They were on the river’s northern shore, skirting the eves of the forest, coming as close to the marches of Doriath as they dared. But on the opposite shore of the river the lands were flat and open. Anyone could see them, from miles away. Perhaps the storm and the oncoming darkness of night were to their advantage after all. Nevertheless, his every sense was attuned to the slightest movement, any hint of pursuit.

It still took him by surprise though, when his mother suddenly drew her horse to a sharp halt, holding up a hand to indicate that he should do the same. Her other finger was to her lips, and he obeyed, staying silent as she listened intently to the sounds of the forest. Maeglin waited for what seemed like an age. Plainly she could hear something, although the only sounds he could pick out was the lashing of the wind and rain against the trees and the sound of the river, with the occasional low growl of thunder in the background.

Suddenly she dismounted, without a sound, swinging her legs onto the ground in one easy motion. He did the same as she quietly took a few steps into the trees.

“Lómion” her voice was almost too low to hear “there’s something there. In the trees. I don’t know what it is yet, but it’s… it’s coming closer. Stay behind me, and be completely silent. Draw your sword.” She herself drew out her bow and nocked an arrow.

Nervously, he drew Anguirel, the unfamiliar weight and balance of his father’s sword feeling suddenly awkward and clumsy in his hand. The image of his father’s mocking smile came unbidden into his mind. If he had found them – if it were Eöl in the woods  - would he be able to fight him? Would he be able to turn the sword on his own father, its true master? He did not want to find out. He squinted into the darkness, blinking rainwater from his eyes, hardly daring to breathe. He thought he heard something  - a rustle of leaves, over the sound of the rain and the wind?

He let out an involuntary gasp as his mother loosed the arrow. It whistled through the trees, and there was another rustle and a muffled curse. Then he heard a voice that was not his father’s. “ _Irissë?_  Is that you?” The voice spoke Quenya, and Maeglin thought he heard a catch in it. “Stop trying to shoot me full of arrows, would you?”

Her eyes opened wide, her mouth dropping a little open in astonishment. “ _Tyelko?_ ”

His mother walked a few step forward. A tall, cloaked figure stepped from beneath the trees, leading a horse by the bridle. At his other side was a huge dog, who immediately leapt towards her, placing his front paws on her shoulder and licking her face enthusiastically, his tail wagging in delight. Maeglin, alarmed, raised his sword, wondering what was going on. “Hello, Huan.” Her voice sounded a little dazed. “It’s alright, Lómion. You can put the sword down.” All this time, her eyes never left the figure. Slowly, he lowered his hood, revealing a broad, angular face with slightly sunburnt skin and grey-green, distinctly Noldorin eyes, and a mass of tangled blond hair. He realised this must be his uncle. He knew all their names of course, had spent his childhood begging for stories of his mother’s youth hunting with her cousins in the woods of the Blessed Realm. A great adventure, it had sounded like. The kind of thing invented for a children’s story. But the way she looked at him… there was a kind of intensity in her gaze that he had never seen before. She certainly never looked at his father like that, as if she were trying to pierce him with her eyes, to see his very  _fëa._  As the two of them stood transfixed,he got the sudden impression that despite all the stories, he really knew very little about his mother’s past. It was as if an invisible current of  _something_  ran between them, although Maeglin was not quite sure what. All of a sudden the connection seemed to snap.

He sighed, and then laughed, a harsh, nervous bark of a laugh. “Never could manage to sneak up on you in the forest, no matter how much Oromë taught me.”

Her voice was clipped and formal. “Tyelkormo, this is my son, Lómion.” Maeglin stiffened. She had never introduced him by his mother name before, nor revealed it to anyone but him. “…although he is more often known as Maeglin. Lómion - ” she turned to him, taking his hand. “This is my cousin Tyelkormo. Lord Celegorm of Himlad, I should say.”

Maeglin forced himself to nod courteously, but Tyelkormo only stared, that piercing gaze sweeping over Maeglin’s features as if searching for something long lost. Those bright eyes – bright as his mother’s, but not quite the same colour - made Maeglin more than a little unnerved. They stood in silence for a minute longer, the rain soaking their hair and running down their faces.

Finally his mother broke the silence, her voice irritable. “What do you want with us, Tyelko?”

“I wanted… to see you. Before you disappeared again. And I came to tell you…” he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “Irissë – I came to tell you – Eöl is dead. Curvo killed him, in a fight. I’m… I’m sorry.” Was it Maeglin’s imagination, or was there a hint of a question in these last words?

Maeglin was surprised and slightly disturbed by how little he felt. Quickly, he glanced over to his mother. Her eyes were wide with shock, in an expression that would almost have been comical in any other situation. “How?” she managed to choke out.

“He came to Himlad, not a day after you did, hunting you. I was not there, but he and Curvo argued, they fought… Curvo cut his throat.” He spread his hands before him uncomfortably. “I should not think there was much… pain.”

Her face hardened. She swallowed and looked up at him again. “Thank you for coming to tell me. Perhaps it is better this way, for Lómion’s sake.”

Maeglin felt his cheeks burn.

“Come back with me!” Tyelkormo burst out suddenly. “I mean… both of you, for the night, at least. Wait out the storm at Himlad. You know it’s not wise to be out in the dark in a storm. Your horses could fall.”

She looked reluctant. “But Turukáno - ”

“Turukáno doesn’t even know that you are on your way. But you are of course free to leave in the morning, or whenever you choose to.  _I_  will not hold you anywhere. Irissë, you know it’s the sensible thing to do.”

She gave a short, bitter laugh. “Since when have you cared about  _sensible_? Is this even the same Tyelko talking?”

He gave a strange half-smile, blinking a strand of wet hair from his eye. “You won’t have a chance to find out if you leave now.”

For an instant, her own face broke into a grin, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Maeglin was not entirely sure he had not imagined it. She looked up at the sky, which was still dark and lowering with clouds, and then down at the boggy riverbank beneath their feet. As if on cue, there was a flash of lightning, followed almost immediately by a threatening growl of thunder. Tyelkormo raised an eyebrow pointedly. Huan wagged his tail.

She sighed. “Lómion. Do you mind waiting a little longer to meet your uncle Turukáno?”


	3. Aredhel

Irissë sat on the wide bed in the guest bedroom she had been shown to, towelling her hair dry after a hot bath. Next door she could just hear the sound of splashing water from the room given to Lómion, and guessed that her son had had the same idea. She wondered what was going through his mind. She thought vaguely that she might go talk to him later, but for now she was content to listen to the sounds of the storm outside, and to watch the flames dance cheerfully in the fireplace, relishing the warmth on her face, and the feeling of clean, dry clothes against her skin. She made an effort to concentrate on that, to put off having to think about all that had happened for a little while longer.

A sharp knock at the door broke into her reverie. “Come in, it’s open” she muttered, an inexplicable sense of foreboding creeping over her.

It was him, of course it was. He stood in the doorway staring at her, mouth slightly open as if trying to decide what to say.

“I said, come in. There’s no point just standing there.” She could not conceal the irritation in her voice, although she was not sure whether it was directed at Tyelkormo or herself. “What did you want to ask?”

He hurried into the room, closing the door behind him and leaning backwards against it, as far from her as he could get. He looked wary, she though. His shoulder were slightly rounded and there was a sort of subtle tension in his posture, like a dog with its hackles raised. Other than that he looked much the same, she thought with a pang. His hair was a little longer and more ragged, his skin a little paler and the hollows around his eyes perhaps slightly deeper. Or maybe that was only the flickering firelight. But the planes and angles of his face, the shape of his bitten nails, the way he spread his large, brown hands out in front of him as if about to ask a question, were all exactly the same. She frowned.

“Well? Are you going to say anything?”

“I – I’m not so good at words, you know, Irissë. Just waiting for the right ones. I wanted to tell you so many things, but suddenly they’re all gone from my mind. Funny how that happens, isn’t it?”

She could stand it no longer. “I was ready to forgive you!” She blurted out. “When I first left Ondolindë I always meant to come straight here, and do you know why?” She could feel her cheeks growing hot, her voice rising sharply. She forced it back down, angrily. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain. Instead she stood up, drawing herself up to her full height, even as she silently cursed him for being so much taller. “It was for  _you_. Because I still – I mean, I wanted to see you. But you weren’t there.”

“Irissë, if I had known - ”

“Oh, I’m sure if you had only  _known_ , then everything would have been absolutely fine!” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice. She knew she should stop there, but the words seemed to tumble from her mouth without her control. “If you had only  _known_ , then I would have never met  _him_ , and my  _féa_  and  _hröa_ would still be whole and unbroken, and everything would have been happy, and, I don’t know, we would somehow have got your father’s accursed jewels back, and we would have got married and lived happily ever after with lots of blond-haired children running around.” She was almost spitting the words now. “Is that what you meant?” She knew she was being cruel now, for there was no reason he should have known. She knew she was drifting away from the subject, her thoughts jumbled and incoherent. But she simple carried on, a kind of painful, savage satisfaction filling her. “But of course you were with your  _brothers_  at the time. Because for the sons of Fëanáro, nothing is more important than each other, unless it be the Silmarilli. “Neither law nor  _love_  nor league of swords”, and all. You told me you loved me, once.  _Before_. I should have known better than to believe it were still true.”

Tyelkormo’s face crumpled. She watched him. The fact that he wasn’t even attempting to defend himself seemed more wrong than any other possibility she had pictured. For a while they simply stood there, eyes locked together.

“Did you love… him? Eöl?” he asked quietly.

Irissë’s stomach dropped. “There were times… early on… when I thought I did. I was so  _sure_. But I came to realise… when he started hurting me, started hurting Lómion, that it hadn’t been real.” Her voice was bitter. “It was just his enchantments. Just a dream.” She drew herself up a little taller. “But I love Lómion. I will love him always, until the end of Arda and beyond. And I cannot bring myself to regret his birth, no matter who his father is.”

There was a short pause.

“Irissë - ”

“ _Don’t_ , Tyelko. Don’t say it. Not yet. You were going to ask if I still loved you. I wasn’t ready for that question then, and I certainly am not now.”

He blushed a little and glanced at the floor. “Even after all these years, you still know what I’m going to say before I say it.”

She watched him, the fall of hair over his face, the spidery shadows of his pale eyelashes dancing on his cheeks in the firelight. She felt a sudden desire to reach out to him, to tenderly brush back a lock of hair that lay across his cheek. As if her movements were beyond her control, she lifted a trembling hand. He glanced up at her, a question in his eyes. He slowly raised his own hand, their fingertips brushing lightly together. His skin felt warm, and terrifyingly familiar, down to the slight roughness of the calluses on his fingers. The moment seemed to stretch on and on, a challenge.  _Well?_  It seemed to say. _What happens now?_

Suddenly it seemed laughably obvious.

She pushed him hard against the wall, kissing him roughly and hungrily, their teeth clicking together, his noise of surprise quickly silenced. Then his arms were around her, his hands twining in her hair, even as her own were already tangled in his. She smiled into the kiss, inhaling his smell, a blend of leather and pine needles that brought with it a flood of memories. He leaned forward to kiss her neck and she let out an involuntary gasp at how  _familiar_ it felt, even after all these years. And yet different. The touch of his lips, and his hands on her waist was so delicate now, almost hesitant.

“I’m not made of glass, Tyelko” she muttered into his hair, her voice rough. He raised his head, looking down at her, searching her face.

“Eöl hurt me” she blurted out. “He broke me. But I want to forget that. I want to think about anything but him. For now, I want there to be just you and me and nothing else in the world.” She wasn’t sure she was making sense. “Like before. Can you give me that?”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”  
“Oh, trust me, I do.”

He pulled her towards him and seemed about to kiss her again, but she put a finger to his lips.

“This does not mean I have necessarily forgiven you.”

He grinned lopsidedly. “Duly noted.”

And then their lips were pressed together again, hard enough to bruise, and she was clumsily undoing the lacing on his tunic, and his hands were under her borrowed dress, slipping over her skin, sending shudders of anticipation through her. The two of them fell onto the bed, legs tangled together, breathless with laughter as if they were back in the woods beyond Tirion, hiding from their cousins. In that moment her world narrowed until it was filled with him, only him, her whole consciousness entangled with his. She knew every inch of his body, just as he knew hers, although at first their touches were clumsy, as if relearning what they had half forgotten. Her dress was discarded now, as were his tunic and boots, and she could feel his hardness against her thigh. She began unlacing his breeches, a task made more difficult as he slid his hand between her legs and began to move his fingers in small circles, tiny involuntary whimpers of pleasure escaping her lips.

When he slipped inside her it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like returning to an almost forgotten place, but one as familiar as the wind in her hair or the tree-light on her face, or the wild call of a hunting horn. She wrapped her arms around his broad chest, rolling them over so that she was astride him, needing him to be closer, deeper inside her. Delighting in the soft moan that he made, her name half-forming on his lips. She felt their  _fëar_ mingle, superimposing themselves on each other, their edges blurring even as their bodies moved as one. She playfully pushed him back against the headboard of the bed as he reached up towards her, then leaned forward and kissed his chest, the hollow of his neck, the line of his jaw, biting just a little. She could feel the waves of sensation washing over her, sweeping her towards her climax; she could tell that Tyelkormo was near too. When she came she almost felt she saw stars bursting before her closed eyes, leaving bright spots behind her eyelids, her breath hitching in her chest and muscled clenching involuntarily, her fingers grasping convulsively at his burning skin. She opened her eyes again, and it was to see his face before her, contorted with pleasure, biting his lip a little, and stammering her name aloud. She felt that same triumphant burst of light again, but this time through his mind, joined to hers.

The blinding haze of brightness subsided to a warm glow as she curled herself beside him, the stuffy darkness of Nan Elmoth seeming, in that moment, like a long nightmare, far away and harmless. Tyelkormo turned to face her and cupped her face in his hands, eyes half-closed, a small smile playing across his face.

“Irissë…” he mumbled, and she kissed the corner of his mouth lightly.

“Yes?”

“How will I ever let you go?”

She sighed, but her mouth quirked up at the corner. “Let me go? Now? It’s a bit early to be thinking like that, isn’t it, Tyelko? I mean, we’ve still got the rest of the night ahead of us…”


	4. Celebrimbor

Celebrimbor knocked nervously at he door, balancing the tray he was holding on one hip. “Maeglin? It’s your cousin. May I speak with you?”

There was silence. “Maeglin? Is everything alright?”

Still no answer. Slightly worried, he turned the handle. It was unlocked, and he stepped gingerly into the room. Maeglin was seated on the floor, in the corner of the room. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, and his face bore a strange, distant expression. He stared out of the window at the stormy night sky, the flames in the hearth reflected in his unblinking black eyes. His head jerked towards the door as Celebrimbor entered, and he stood up quickly. “I… I am sorry, my Lord. Am I summoned… somewhere?” He spoke in broken, heavily accented Quenya, although Celebrimbor had spoken in Sindarin. “Excuse my speech” he added haltingly, “the language of the Noldor was… not allowed… by my father. My learning of it was a secret, and I had little practice. I will… improve.”

Celebrimbor could not help but smile. “In that case, I am impressed by your proficiency” he said, again in Sindarin. “But come, speak as you are accustomed to. You will find the language of the Sindar is most commonly spoken here at Himlad anyway, at least in public affairs.”

Maeglin looked a little doubtful, but grateful nonetheless, and when he spoke it was in Sindarin. “Thank you, you are most kind… cousin? I do not believe we have met yet, although you seem to know my name.”

“Of course! I apologise. Technically, we are half second cousins, but… anyway, I am Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, son of Fëanor. My father, you have perhaps met already? He is Lord of Himlad, along with his brother Celegorm, whom you have certainly met.”

As if on cue, there was a quiet thud from the next room, followed by a tinkle of female laughter. Celebrimbor winced internally.

“Did you know?” Maeglin asked bluntly, jerking his thumb towards the wall where the sounds came from. “About them?”

Celebrimbor considered, wondering what to say. “I was only a child at the time, but yes, I knew. They didn’t make much of an effort to hide it, and I truly believe she loved him then, and he her. But she must have had her own reasons for hiding it from you. Maybe she thought it would save you some pain. Or maybe it pained  _her_ to speak about him. I should not judge her too harshly, either way.”

Maeglin did not reply, staring glumly at his feet, fidgeting with the hem of the black tunic he had borrowed. The silence became uncomfortable. Suddenly Celebrimbor remembered the reason he had come here. He held out the tray he had been carrying, offering it to Maeglin. It held a teapot and two cups. “I… I brought you some tea. I thought you might like a hot drink after coming in from the storm. But if you feel like something stronger…” he drew a small leather hip flask from an inside pocket of his robe. “You’ve had a hard time since you left Nan Elmoth, I know.”

Maeglin smiled wryly. He reached for the proffered flask first, and took a long swig. “Thank you” he said, his voice sincere. Celebrimbor poured them each a cup of tea, and handed one to Maeglin, in a way that he hoped appeared to invite no argument. Maeglin took the cup, wrapping his hands around it as though desperate for warmth, despite the cheerful fire burning in the grate. “Thank you” he repeated quietly.

For a while they sat in silence again, although it was a companionable silence this time, as they both sipped their tea. Finally Maeglin spoke, picking up their previous conversation where he had left off.

“I don’t hold it against either of them. If my mother is happy, I will be too, and that is the way it will always be.”

Another short silence.

“I do not miss my father. Am I a bad person?” He looked up at Celebrimbor with those strange, unreadable black eyes. Then he immediately looked down again, into his cup, clearly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I should not burden you with this. We barely know each other.”

Celebrimbor suddenly felt a stab of compassion for Maeglin. His cousin was barely more than a child, after all, cast adrift and far from the only place he had ever known as home, never to return. It reminded him uncomfortably of his own childhood, and painful memories tugged at the corners of his mind. “Don’t be silly. Tell me anything you need to” he said gently.

“I… he used to hurt me, you know, at the end. He hit me, twisted my arms back.” Maeglin’s voice was hollow. “I didn’t care. I could have borne it. But he used to hurt me to get my mother to obey him. That was the worst thing. I’m  _glad_  he’s dead.” His words were vicious, his knuckles white as he gripped the cup. “But… as much as I hated him, Nan Elmoth was my home. I at least belonged there. I don’t belong here, or anywhere, not anymore. Without him, I am nothing. And my mother has the Lord Celegorm now, but I have nobody.”

Celebrimbor sighed. “I used to think like that, sometimes. But it takes time. You will learn to be great in your own right. As for  _belonging_ ” – he gave a small, sad smile  - “technically none of us  _belong_ in these lands, anyway. Yet here we are. Your family is here, if you want it to be.”

Maeglin did not look convinced, but he made no attempt to argue. “Thank you for the tea” he said quietly, placing his empty cup back on the tray. But Celebrimbor’s attention had been caught by the sword leaning against the wall. It was that strange black metal and had the same detailing on the scabbard as Eöl’s armour and other gear, he noted, wondering if it would be appropriate to ask about it. Maeglin’s eyes followed his gaze.

“My father’s sword” said Maeglin. “Anguirel. I stole it.” His voice was flat and toneless. “Although, I suppose it would be mine now anyway.”

He crossed the room and picked up the weapon, inspecting it briefly himself before holding it out before Celebrimbor. “Did you want to look? My father was a fine craftsman, whatever else he may have been.” Celebrimbor realised his interest must have shown more clearly on his face than he had thought.

Celebrimbor took the hilt, reverently, running his finger over the twisting designs engraved there. “You speak truly” he said, impressed despite himself. “This black metal… I’ve never seen anything like it before.” He drew out his pocket magnifying glass, fascinated by the intricacy of the detailing on the pommel.

“Galvorn, he called it” said Maeglin. “I’m afraid he told no one his methods of making it though, not even me.”

“Then the secret is lost?”

“Perhaps. Although my father used to visit the Naugrim, and even had friends amongst them, if you could call it friendship. He may even have shared the formula. I do not know. I went with him sometimes, when I was a child, but he never trusted me with anything important.”

“ _You’ve_ spoken with the Naugrim? My own father has had dealings with them, you know, and I find the idea of an alliance between the two peoples absolutely fascinating. We could learn so much, although most do not see it that way, I am afraid…”

“As I said, my father mostly worked alone. But yes, I spoke with them. I have a great deal of respect for them. But you are a craftsman too, are you not? All my life, I have heard great things about the crafts of the Noldor. Even my father was impressed, I think, although he tried his best to hide it of course.”

Celebrimbor smiled. All hint of self-pity was gone from Maeglin’s voice, and he found himself warming to his young cousin more and more. “Indeed I am, although I am certainly nowhere near as great as my father or grandfather.” He laughed. “But if you want to learn more of the crafts of the Noldor, I think you may have unwittingly ended up in  _exactly_  the right place…”


	5. Celegorm

Tyelkormo awoke slowly, his senses reassembling themselves little by little as he surfaced from a deep sleep. He was lying face down with his cheek against the pillow, in a bed that was not his own… his mind went blank for a instant before memory came and he let out a small involuntary sound. He turned over, squinting at the window, through which the early morning sunlight was streaming, the storm gone and the sky perfectly blue. There was Irissë, dressed only in his tunic from the night before, silhouetted against the bright blaze of sunlight. It  _had_  been real then. For a moment he had hardly dared to hope that it had been more than a dream, lest the disappointment break him. But there she was. As he watched, she turned to look at him, her dark, curly hair falling over one half-exposed shoulder in a tangled mass. She smiled at him. “Finally felt like waking up, did you?”

He made a show of looking affronted. “Well, you did keep me awake most of last night!”

She returned to the bed, sitting down beside him and running her fingers through his hair. “That I did, and I don’t regret it for a moment. But you could equally say that  _you_  kept  _me_  up, you know, and I am awake. You have no excuse.” She gave him a playful push to one side, and lay down beside him. “And also, I had almost forgotten your extraordinary ability to sleep spreadeagled like a starfish, face down. Do you have any idea how funny you look when you do that?”

“Irissë, I don’t know  _what_ you’re talking about. But how could I? I’m asleep aren’t I?”

She laughed, leaning over to kiss him on the corner of his mouth. For a while they lay there in silence, her head against his shoulder, each lost in thought. He knew she would have to go soon, most likely this very morning, since the weather was good. The thought cut at him with a deep and visceral pain, more than he could put into words. So instead he just looked at her, drinking in the sight of her pale skin (how long had it been since she had last seen any sunlight, he wondered) and her dark hair and the curve of her full lips. There was a trail of bright bruises along her neck. He wondered idly when she would notice, smiling to himself as he imagined her likely reaction. He felt for her mind and its reassuring, bright warmth, but his concentration was broken as she spoke suddenly.

“The answer is yes.”

“The… what?”

“The answer. You were going to ask me a question yesterday, and I told you to wait. But the answer is yes. I  _do_ still love you.” Her voice was casual, matter of fact, but he could feel a tension in both her mind and in the muscles of her neck pressed against his arm. Was it…  _nervousness_? He just looked at her, his mouth slightly open.

“Well?” There was a touch of impatience in her voice.

“Well what?”

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

He considered this for a moment. “I would say… that it’s just as well. Because Irissë, I… I hope you know that I have been hopelessly in love with you for most of my life. And I don’t think that will change anytime soon.”

She was silent for a moment.

“Tyelko?”

“Yes?”

“I forgive you. For burning the ships. For avoiding me at Lake Mithrim. For not being here the first time. For everything.”

He swallowed hesitantly. “That’s quite a lot to forgive.”

She looked him straight in the eye. “Which is why I couldn’t forgive you straight away, my unspeakably lovable idiot.”

He smiled broadly, and leaned over and kissed her, cupping her face in his hands. Then he pulled away. “Stay with me.” The whispered words had slipped from his mouth before he could think better of them.

She sat up. “Are you asking me to  _marry_  you? Because you know I’m already technically married, until the end of Arda. Or so the Valar would say.”

He gave a snort of derision. “The Valar? Do you really still care what the Valar think, when they would condemn you to eternally bind your  _fëa_  to that… that…” he clenched his fists, unable to come up with a curse vile enough to express how he felt about Eöl “…to  _him_ , the one that willingly exploited and imprisoned you and your son? And are we not defying the laws of the Valar by our very presence in these lands anyway? And… last night” he smiled wryly. “You didn’t seem so worried what the Valar thought then, I must say.”

He sat up too, and watched her face anxiously, wondering if he had just destroyed any possibility of future happiness.

“Besides” he added as an afterthought. “I wouldn’t really call them laws. “They’re more like  _customs_ , anyway…”

He waited.

“Tyelko, I have a son now…”  
“And? Lómion is welcome to stay at Himlad, or go where he wishes. As are you.”

She narrowed her eyes. “And you are still bound by that accursed Oath.”

He raised his jaw proudly. “Even if I had not sworn, I should still want to avenge my father and grandfather, and take back what is ours. Our people’s. What difference does it make whether I have sworn it or not? I would keep fighting either way. But I would gladly damn myself to everlasting darkness all over again, rather than have any harm come to you as a result of it.”

She looked a little surprised, and he thought he saw a glitter of tears in her eyes, before she blinked them swiftly away. “Oh Tyelko… I want to say yes… you have no idea how much.”

“Then say yes. It doesn’t even have to be forever. Why is it so complicated?”

She was silent. He grinned, and then sighed melodramatically. “Are you going to insist that I do this in the appropriate way for a prince and a princess?”

She raised one eyebrow, her mouth curling into a smile. “I genuinely would be interested in seeing your attempt at acting like a prince.”

“Irissë, you underestimate me.”

Getting up, he picked up the woollen blanket that had been pushed to the bottom of the bed, and draped it around himself in the manner of a ceremonial robe. Then he extracted one of the laces from his discarded boots, tied it into a neat loop, and placed it on his head, a makeshift royal circlet. Then he sank down on one knee, throwing his hands in the air and declaming “Oh, Irissë daughter of Nolofinwë, White Lady of the Noldor, Lady Aredhel Ar-Feinel, true love of my heart, queen of the both the bedroom and the wild woods, accidental shooter of arrows at her lovers - ”

“Excuse me! I had no reason to believe that was  _you_ in  _-_ ”

“ – but only when she doesn’t know it’s them. Fond of wearing white, but personally I prefer her wearing nothing at all - ”

“I appreciate the compliment, but also, I understand why you don’t do this so often - ”

“ – but you can’t have everything all the time, I suppose. Irissë, will you do me the honour of consenting to  _not_  marry me, but to stay with me for some undetermined length of time of your own free will, because you still love me, despite all the horrible mistakes I have made?”

He swept her hand to his lips and kissed it formally, then glanced up at her.

“Oh Tyelko. That was entirely ridiculous. How could I possibly say no?”

“So… you won’t leave? Just yet?”

She sighed. Then she looked him straight in the eye and smiled. “No. No I won’t.”

He stood up slowly, hardly daring to believe what he had just heard. She tipped her head back and was just about to kiss him, when there was a sharp knock at the door. They both froze.

“Irissë?”

It was Curufinwë’s voice. Tyelkormo cursed under his breath.

“Tyelkormo, I know you’re in there too. Do you think the whole of Himlad didn’t hear you last night?” Curufinwë continued dryly. “The whole of Beleriand probably heard you last night.”

Irissë sighed, and dragging Tyelkormo by the hand, she went to the door and opened it. Curufinwë raised a single eyebrow when he saw his brother’s appearance, but did not comment. “Maeglin and Tyelpe are having luncheon in the main dining hall. If the two of you felt like joining us at any point today.”

“Luncheon… what time can it be?” Irissë’s voice was alarmed. “And Lómion… I must speak with him.”

“And so must I.” Tyelkormo suddenly felt unexpectedly nervous.

“Don’t worry. You’ll have time.”

And, Tyelkormo realised, it was true.


End file.
